"That shouldn’t be any problem," he said after a long moment. "I’ll move everything for you after dinner."

"Good." Hannah couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.

Riley mumbled something under his breath, but Hannah didn’t hear what it was. She would have asked him to repeat but she didn’t think what he said was meant for her ears.

Riley walked over to the stove and picked up the lid of the small pot of stroganoff that was simmering on the back burner. He stared into the pot an extra-long time before replacing the top, then turned and walked toward the living room.

"Oh, before I forget, Cheryl phoned," Hannah added. "She invited us over to play cards next Saturday night. Do you have anything planned?"

"No." The word came out sounding far huskier than normal.

"I’ll call her tomorrow then and tell her we’ll be there. I told her I didn’t know how to play pinochle, but she said it was easy to learn and that I’d pick it up in no time."

He nodded, but Hannah had the impression his mind wasn’t on Cheryl’s invitation or playing pinochle. "Isn’t this Friday your poker night?"

He didn’t answer her and seemed to be lost in a fog.

"Riley?"

His gaze turned upward, meeting hers. The air in the room seemed to go still. Even the radio, which was playing in the corner, seemed to fade. Their gazes locked. Riley’s expression was so tender, as though he derived a good deal of joy just looking at her. This night – either by hook or by crook, Hannah decided-she was going to make love with her husband.

From out of nowhere came the memory of the first night they’d slept together. She remembered the way he’d shaped his body around hers, holding her against him cocoon style, his long legs entwined with hers. She recalled, too, how she’d been forced to carefully lift his arm from her waist in order to escape his hold and steal away the following morning. A king-size lump formed in her throat, and it was all she could do not to promise him she’d never, run away again.

"Poker?" he repeated after what seemed like a millennium. "I… don’t remember. Why?"

"No reason. I was just wondering."

He walked out of the kitchen as though he weren’t sure where he was headed. He stood in front of the picture window in the living room for several moments, although there was nothing going on outside that she could tell. Hannah had the oddest feeling that if she were to speak to him, he wouldn’t hear her. It was at times like these that she felt at such a loss.

True to his word, Riley helped transfer her personal items from one bedroom into the next while she washed the dinner dishes. He cleared a space for her in his closet and then carted her clothes across the hallway several hangers at a time. The chest of drawers took far more time and effort.

They played a game of Scrabble, which she won handily, and watched a little television. By nine-thirty Hannah was ready for bed.

Not so, Riley. He made an excuse of needing to gas up the car. He rejected her offer to go with him and suggested instead that she go bed without him. He promised to join her later. Hannah could only agree, but she was determined to stay awake. He wouldn’t thwart her that easily.

Riley sat in his car in the dark of the night, trying to come up with a logical excuse to find somewhere else to sleep for the next ten nights. It was only ten lousy nights before the Atlantis was scheduled to be deployed. Thus far he’d managed to keep his hands off Hannah, but he swore the woman was enough to tempt the saints.

Riley Murdock was no saint.

He didn’t even make the pretense of being one. Hannah was home sleeping in his bed, and short of spending the night sitting in the cold, he’d soon be joining her there.

Hannah, all soft and warm with sleep, waiting for him to join her. In their bed. The very thought was enough to drive Riley to his knees.

He hadn’t slept worth a damn since Christmas night, when she’d rushed into his arms and they’d come so close to making love. He’d seen the look in her eyes then: bold as could be.

Passion. A desire so strong that it awed him, and had haunted him every night since.

Riley didn’t know how he was going to be able to resist her.

He knew his actions since Christmas had confused and flustered Hannah. Hell, he was baffled himself. Questions paraded through his mind each and every night. Plenty of questions and not a single answer.

He was a crazy man not to make love to Hannah when she’d given every indication that she’d welcome his attentions. He was certifiable. A candidate for intensive counseling.

The frightening part of all this was how much he wanted to make love with her. He thought about it constantly, but he couldn’t make himself breach the barrier of his fears.

He’d hurt her again. He might injure the baby. He’d been too large for her that first night. She’d been so damned tight and hot.

Quickly Riley banished the memory from his mind, knowing if he didn’t find something else to think about, he’d soon fall victim to his own needs.

Slowly, with a good deal of reluctance, he drove back to the house, noting when he walked inside that it was only a little after eleven. Hannah would be asleep by now. At least he wouldn’t be left to contend with any of her questions. He wouldn’t have any answers for her, either.

He undressed in the dark, showered and as silently as humanly possible, he slipped between the sheets, staying as far away from her as he could. It surprised him how easily he drifted off.

Riley woke sometime in the middle of the night to find Hannah lying facing him. He opened his eyes and breathed in the fresh, clean scent of her. Wildflowers. In full bloom.

A thick strand of hair had fallen across her face, and although he feared he might wake her, he chanced lifting the shiny brown curl from her cheek and gently brushed it aside.

She was wearing the flannel nightgown. Riley never thought he’d appreciate the sexless thing, but he was wrong. He was eternally grateful she hadn’t donned one of those sheer nighties. Or something made of silk. Silk was his downfall. The mental image of Hannah wearing a silk gown blossomed in his mind, and he banished the thought before it could take root. He had enough of a problem dealing with the reality of her in his bed without complicating his life by introducing fantasy.

Releasing a deep rush of air, Hannah scooted closer. So close he could almost hear her heart beating.

Closing his eyes, Riley tried to force himself to go back to sleep. Damn, but he could hear her heart beat. It was pulsing like crazy. No, he decided a second later; that was his own heart.

Slowly, against his better judgment, he brought his hand up to the front of her gown – just to determine if it was her pulse that was pounding so violently, he assured himself. If it was, then perhaps there was something medically wrong with her, or with the baby.

His hand slipped past the small pearl buttons, past the lace trim and edging of pink embroidery.

Past the point of no return.

A thin layer of perspiration broke out across Riley’s upper lip as he pressed his palm to her chest.

The tips of his fingers felt for her pulse, but the heel of his hand rested against the bulging fullness of her lush breast. Riley’s heart seemed to be working just fine, but his breathing came to an abrupt halt. An ache, low in his belly, began to pound like a giant fist.

Only it wasn’t his stomach that was throbbing.

A better man than he might be able to resist Hannah. Jerry could resist her, but not Riley. Not for a second longer. His hands shook like a schoolboy’s as he captured her breast in his palm. He lifted it, savored its weight and pear shape. She was right; they were fuller, sweetly fuller than he remembered.

Dear God, she felt good. He’d thought to relieve one ache and in the process created another – one that was ten times worse than the first.

He had to touch her, he realized; really touch her, or go mad. The pearl buttons slipped free of the restraining material with little more than a flick of his fingers, her gown spilling open wider and wider, granting him ample room to slip his hand inside.

He sighed out loud as her breast fell into his palm. Her nipple formed a hard bead against him, and unable to restrain himself, he groaned at the small intimacy.

Oh, God, what was he doing? Riley was nearly frantic with the knowledge of how far he’d allowed this little experiment to take him. His breathing was labored and deep. His heart beat high in his throat.

He was about to pull free, thinking he had never sunk lower than he had at that moment, when he noticed Hannah’s beautiful gray eyes watching him in the dark.

Then she smiled – the sweetest, most dazzling smile he’d ever seen in his life. It seemed to light up the entire room.

"I remember how you sucked on them," she whispered into the stillness. He remembered, too, and against every dictate of his will he grazed the hard rosy tip with his thumb. He marveled at her quick, ready response.

"Do it again, Riley," she pleaded softly. "Like you did that night."

Riley didn’t take the time to think; he couldn’t. Instead, he crushed her mouth with his, frightening himself with the powerful need she created in him.

Their kiss was wet and wild. As their mouths ground against each other, Riley cupped her breasts, marveling once more at how incredibly soft her skin felt; softer than anything he’d ever touched. Softer than velvet. Softer than fur or silk.

Consumed in a fire of his own making, Riley slipped his mouth down the ivory perfection of her shoulders and finally to the swell of her breasts. His lips sought the nipple, drawing it forward, feasting on her, suckling until she moaned and arched her hips, seeking the pleasure she’d experienced all too briefly, all those months ago.

Riley longed to show her all the delightfully scandalous things they could do to please each other. But he dared not… not with Hannah. He would shock her, repulse her.

He used his tongue to create a wet, slick trail between her breasts, moistening, laving, sucking. He altered between gentle and not-so-gentle until Hannah raised the entire upper half of her body off the mattress in silent entreaty.

All ten of her fingers dug into his scalp. "Riley," she pleaded, "I need…"

Riley needed her, too. Needed to be released from the desire that was so strong it pained him. So wild it frightened him. So deep it humbled him.

He lifted his head and kissed her, keeping his hands busy molding, kneading, shaping her breasts. God help him, but he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her.

Where he found the strength, Riley never knew. Slowly, he drew her head down to his chest and closed his eyes to the agony of physical frustration.

"Riley?"

"Shh… Sleep." He gently stroked her hair, praying, pleading, doing everything he could to force his mind from the beautiful soft woman in his arms.

"Sleep?"

"Sleep," he repeated. "We’ve both got to work tomorrow."

She was frustrated, too. Unsure. But he wouldn’t answer her questions. It took some time before the smooth, even flow of her breathing convinced him she’d drifted off. At least one of them would get some rest that night, but it wouldn’t be he.